


The Second Aunt

by syrupwit



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27137164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit
Summary: An excerpt from Philip Harwickle'sThe Empress(1902).
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9
Collections: Trick or Treat Exchange 2020





	The Second Aunt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kay_obsessive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_obsessive/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy! ♥ ♥ ♥

With time’s remove, each era of history becomes quainter and more foreign to its successors. The still point on which we pivot is always moving, and clarity of sight is difficult to maintain from a great distance. To a future society, Emily I’s defining characteristic may not be her reforms, her efforts at unification, or the dissolution of the Abbey of the Everyman, but rather her prodigal aunts.

The topic of the first aunt has been exhausted in other chapters of this work, not to mention popular literature of varying quality; we will let it alone for now. Details regarding the second, however, are less widely disseminated, and may yet merit a bit of our attention.

It was autumn, 1857, early in the Month of Rain. Already the Empress’s thirtieth year had proven itself eventful. Bad weather had stranded the Royal Protector in Karnaca for several weeks longer than his diplomatic mission entailed (for a comprehensive examination of early through mid-century Karnacan politics, see D. Harwickle, _Jewel of the South_ ). In his absence, a flurry of would-be assassins had dashed themselves against the throne, to the point that Her Majesty could not sit down to breakfast without a wretch springing out from under the dining table.

The turmoil inside Dunwall Tower was fed by turmoil without. Months of whale oil shortages had led to sudden severe rationing, followed by unrest and hoarding. People worried about the coming winter, as 1856 had seen one of the coldest in memory and large sectors of the city relied on whale oil for heating. Natural philosophers, merchants, and charlatans competed to find an alternate source of power, but a solution was still far off. Parliament was heavily divided, and the Prime Minister clashed so publicly with Spymaster Curnow that rumors flew of one or the other bribing servants to place tacks on his rival’s chair—or, as it happened, poison in his tea. (W. Winsleigh, in _The Price of Our Politics: An Exposé of Legislative Barbarism,_ maintains that the attempt on Curnow’s life had really been directed toward the Empress.)

On the night of the seventh day of the Month of Rain, a great storm swept through Dunwall, flooding the sewers and drenching every cranny of the city. Dawn revealed strange flotsam, a ship docked at Kingsparrow Island. Though the ship’s make was Morleyan, it came adorned with Pandyssian charms: sea-softened stones, flowers preserved in tree sap, elaborate bundles of knotted grass. The watch officer who discovered it almost set it on fire, but a washing-woman with knowledge of such things assured him that the charms were benevolent. Indeed, the grass-bundles exuded such a pleasing scent that a second watch officer’s gout was reportedly cured by smelling them.

While it resembles a scene from a novel, multiple accounts of the time describe the storm, the ship, and reactions to the ship. A sketch even ran in the _Dunwall Courier_ alongside a panel of expert speculations _._ Why such interest was kindled, it is difficult to say, except that the public was hungry for distractions. Even today, as we float above the “top” of the nineteenth century, our attention is caught by shocking tales; we are fascinated by accounts of witchcraft and the uncanny. Susceptibility to such allure, this writer would argue, is universal among mankind. Even in the Far Continent, they trade stories of Gristolian iniquity with the same eagerness—at least, if Lady Prismall’s stirring recent travelogue is to be believed.

Hours after its discovery, an official investigation of the mysterious ship was conducted. Though no passengers were found aboard, traces of habitation were evident: unspoiled food, a half-smoked pipe, and a host of other signs, both subtle and obvious, related to the condition of the vessel and its components. One report asserted, without apparent jest, that the sheets on the captain’s bed were still warm.

Now the search began for this captain, but public hysteria did not have long to rise. Within a week, the Empress stepped forward to reveal her paternal aunt, Beatrici Attano. Lost at sea decades before, the woman had come to Dunwall half by accident. She claimed to be no witch, but an ordinary citizen; her only interest was reunion with her family. Having absorbed the tale of the imposter, she resolved to prove her sincerity before the public.

While half the city watched, Attano passed test after test against heresy—to the point that even the pitiless examiner begged her to let him stop, lest she be maimed or killed. Some observed, during this display, the Empress’s left hand clenching. Given that this may have been a natural expression of emotion, and that no other signs of black magic were noted in any credible accounts, I would advise certain sensationalist writers to omit the incident from their “alternate histories” of the crown. Fascination with the unexplained is sympathetic; willful perpetuation of treasonous gossip is not.

The tale has no dramatic resolution. The second aunt was exonerated and given free rein of the city. Some days later, the Royal Protector received a surprise welcome from both his daughter and sister. Gristol enjoyed a mild winter that year, and in spring the first of many viable substitutes for whale oil was devised, provoking a new scramble among potential manufacturers. The feud between the Prime Minister and Spymaster Curnow continued to fester, but quietly. A new gang rose in Treaver’s Close and nearly unseated Lizzy Stride, who had ruled there comfortably for decades. Routine settled over the city once more.

Beatrici Attano vanished a year to the day of her arrival. She reappeared thrice more during the Empress’s reign, each time bearing a fresh cargo of curious gifts. Some speculate that the sea she sailed was really an expanse of the Void; others, who met her or thought they did in ports far from Dunwall, assert she was merely an eccentric and seasoned sailor. Regardless, the full truth is lost to us. The best we can manage is a reasoned reconstruction.


End file.
